The following column is a paid advertisement.
You are going to die.
That's right. You there — reading this in your plush office, sipping your decaf pumpkin lowfat chai. Hope you got your things together. Or you — hiding that coulrophilia website behind this window, waiting for your boyfriend to leave the room again. Hope you're quite prepared to die.
Because just as sure as you're alive right now, you soon will be dead. It's the other side of the coin. The hangover after the night before. Doesn't matter who you are. Ma Teresa's just as dead as Joey Stalin. Let me tell you. Forty thousand men and women — every day. You can be like they are: D-E-A-D.
So now you're sitting there. My little voice is getting to you. Your gym won't save you, your soy milk won't save you, your bourbon, your coke, your shrink.You'll snatch every rattling last breath in your lungs today, hear every creak of your ever-aging limbs.
Well, relax, friend. Because in the next few minutes I'm going to tell you about an incredible new system I've discovered. It's not for everybody, let me tell you. It's only for those of you bold enough to want to be immortal. You heard me. Immortal.
Since I discovered this amazing system, I've travelled all over the world, sharing what I've learned. People come up to me in restaurants, in airports, in grocery stores, and cry out to me. They tell me, "I want to live forever! I want to light up the sky like a flame!" And I say, yeah, I know you do. I know. I've been there. And then I ask 'em, I give 'em the red pill or the green pill moment of truth, the big question: Are you Intrepid?
Let me give you some background, here. A couple of years ago, I was just like you. Hell, maybe worse. I lost my job. Lost my house. Drank my dinner most nights. No aim, no ambition. But then one day I saw this ad. Not even an ad, just a little question that would not let me be. It was posted on some tawdry website's bulletin board. "Are you intrepid? www.intrepidmedia.com." It was like a spring of pure, clear water among the cesspool of Hollywood gossip. So I followed it. I followed that link to the rolling green hills of North Carolina and the Intrepid Media Institute for Sustained Humanities. I went in a broken man. And I emerged Intrepid.
Now some of you must be thinking, what, that this Intrepid thing is some kinda cult, right? "Where's the Kool-Aid™? Where's the applesauce? How many lima beans did you have to pick before you became a pitchman?" Let me tell you, right here, right now. This isn't a cult. Whatever religion you want to smoke is fine. We're not here to save your soul; we just want to make you immortal. So how about it?
In this big game we play it's not what you find and it's not what you deserve — it's what you create. Creation is the yin to death's yang. But creation has it all over death. Why? Because — Keith Richards and Joss Whedon notwithstanding — you only die once. Creation, on the other hand, is limited only by your audacity, your undaunted determination — your Intrepidness — to seek, to make, to create more.
The bottom line? Writing. The magical key to unlocking the limitless bounds of creation. You don't need a partner, you don't need an office, you don't need conferences or budgets or leather swivel chairs. You just need something to write with, something to write on, and then something to write down. That's all. It's that simple. But hey -- simple doesn't mean easy. Anyone can scrawl words on a page. A grocery list. Directions to the airport. Anyone can write; but not everyone can be a writer. Not everyone can be Intrepid. For that, you've gotta learn to do two things.
Respect the pencil and tame the paper, people.
You heard me. Tame it. It's one thing to call yourself Intrepid, but quite another to be that invulnerable to fear and intimidation. You think you've been scared before? Take a look into the eternity of an unwritten page. But when you become Intrepid, you can take it on, head first — respect the pencil — with your skills at work and say, "No. You will not control me. You will not take my soul and you will not win this game." And then you'll be a writer. And then you'll be immortal. Centuries, millennia will pass. Plato. Shakespeare. Joyce. Procopio. Your name here.
But that's not all. What good is immortality without some perks along the way? Some marketing genius once stated, "The new brand in your marketplace is not your product, it’s not the name of your company. It is you." Let me tell you how incredibly true that is. You write, you get read. People know your words, they know you. And suddenly you're wanted. You're a star, baby.
Let me give you an example. There's this one guy -- we'll call him "Matthew." Only a few months ago, he was going nowhere, a real schlub. It was all he could do to get his ass out of bed by noon most days. And as for the ladies — oh, man, this is just sad — let me say the only lap action he got was from his laptop computer, and leave it at that. That all changed once he got Intrepid. Now he's jetsetting around the country, buying drinks for all his new friends. And the ladies?
"By the end of this week I will have gone out on 20 dates in 11 weeks." — Matthew.
Score. And he's not the only one, let me tell you. That's great.
Hey, look — we're nearly out of time here, and I've barely scratched the surface. I know I've made it sound simple, but like I said, simple doesn't mean easy. Coming up in a minute you'll learn how to get your own set of our best-selling video, "Smart. Funny. Immortal." I urge you to call and find out more. If you want to turn your life around, grab your share of the gusto and start forging your path to immortality, don't wait for inspiration — light out after it with a club. Be Intrepid.
If the media is the eye on the world, Russ Carr is the finger in that eye. Tune in each month to see him dispersing the smoke and smashing the mirrors of modern mass communication. The world lost Russ on 2/7/12, but he lives on.
ABOUT RUSS CARR
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IF YOU LIKED THIS COLUMN...
9.20.02 @ 12:40a
It's true! I followed Russ Carr's steps to being Intrepid and now I'm immortal! Before, I could hardly get out of bed before noon. Now I still get out of bed at noon, but I have more first dates than I know what to do with!
Thank you, Russ Carr!
Thank you, Intrepid Media!
And you'll thank them too! Sign up today!
9.20.02 @ 12:59a
I'm telling you, it is positively spooky how similar my former Intrepid informercial is to this glorious column.
Which just proves that once you've gone Intrepid, there really is no other way.
9.20.02 @ 1:05a
Respect the pencil and tame the paper.
That's either a tag line or a euphemism, I can't decide which.
Russ, I've said it before. You're my new hero. Not only a great column, but you really did capture the spirit of being a writer.
9.20.02 @ 3:48a
But Intrepid also got Matt punched in the throat. Repeatedly.
Oh, wait...that's a good thing...
9.20.02 @ 8:56a
Apologies to PT Anderson? I want an apology from PT Anderson!
Oh, and this isn't a cult? Oops. Fool me once, shame on... shame on y... won't get fooled again.
9.20.02 @ 10:18a
Plato. Shakespeare. Joyce. Procopio.
You realize he is going to be IMPOSSIBLE to live with now.
9.20.02 @ 10:43a
No, he's still Shakespeare's coffee-boy and takes Joyce's laundry to the dry cleaners.
9.20.02 @ 12:38p
All hail Intrepid! And you say we're not a cult. I question that.
It's like one of those things, you sign up, it's all innocent at first and the next thing you know... Bam!
But it's a good bam.
9.20.02 @ 12:47p
I wish this was a cult. I love cults.
And Heather, no more "Bam"s please, I'll kill Emeril.
9.20.02 @ 1:11p
But Mike, wouldn't that be a good thing? I'm all for it. In fact, I'll hold the cleaver for you.
9.20.02 @ 2:22p
Yeah, Mike, cults are all fun and games until they make you start taking communal showers and drinking each others blood.
9.20.02 @ 2:26p
I'd like to be in control, or at least the leader's right hand man. The Enforcer. I'll make you drink that Flavor-Aid.
9.20.02 @ 3:40p
Funny, I went to the Intrepid Media Sustained Humanities Institute for Training. (I.M. S.H.I.T. for short).
9.20.02 @ 3:47p
Which explains why I went with "Procopio" and not "Kraemer."
9.20.02 @ 4:17p
Oh. That's funny. I thought you were just kissing his ass.
9.20.02 @ 5:46p
this can't get any better...
9.21.02 @ 8:46p
Sarah, I'm interested in the mechanics of this. If you are holding the cleaver, how does Mike make the kill? Does he use the threatening sight of you with the cleaver as a distraction while he tricks the subject into backing off a cliff, or something?
9.21.02 @ 9:21p
I'm all about messing with your head and then eviscerating you.
10.5.02 @ 5:38p
Good to see another column Russ. As the kid says in the Cherrios commercial,"Keep 'em coming..."
You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.